


Hunger Pangs

by coffeeandfeathers



Category: Orbiting Human Circus of the Air (Podcast)
Genre: 2nd fic for this fandom, Fix-It, Gen, Starvation, Vague Mentions of Child Abuse, but not really, don't kill me pls, fancy french food, julian makes a lot of bad life decisions, the narrator is always caught in the middle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 14:13:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10024325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeandfeathers/pseuds/coffeeandfeathers
Summary: Julian the janitor has very few options when it comes to food and when the cast of the Orbiting Human Circus throws a party, he's inclined to join them. Things maybe go a little bit less well for his stomach than expected.





	

Julian was hungry. He was kind of always hungry, actually, by very little fault of his character and in a large part by the fact that, in exchange for letting him sleep in the supply closet, the head of the janitorial staff at the Eiffel Tower paid him a pittance for his work. Coupled with the fact that he had no Frigidaire, no stove, no oven and no electricity in the closet, and that the cafeteria on the thirty-fourth floor contained very little sustenance other than coffee and expensive pastries, Julian had very few options for food inside the Eiffel Tower itself. If he wanted a hot meal, he had to take the freight elevator down onto the street and find a cafe, which took entirely more energy than he was often willing to expend. Besides, he rarely finished his work until after many of the cafes had closed, so his best options were a small stash of non-perishables he kept on a shelf next to the singing saws and countless glasses of lukewarm water gulped down in the staff bathroom in order to trick his stomach into thinking it was full.

He’d learned the hot water trick as a child. His stepfather, in addition to boxing his ears, was in the habit of depriving him of meals whenever possible and Julian often fell asleep with a pint of water inside him instead of the bread and meat and potatoes everyone else got to eat. Sleeping was also a good trick for pretending not to be hungry, though falling asleep on an empty stomach didn’t lead to very good dreams. His great-grandfather, though slightly more attentive, often forgot to feed him on show nights and Julian subsisted on canned soup and crackers by the box, staples occasionally punctuated by lavish meals at parties where he found it very difficult to focus on anything but eating as much as his stomach would allow.

In any case, Julian was a very skinny child who grew into a very skinny adult with very little money and a lot of tricks that his body was still letting him get away with. Sure, he would have liked to have a little more padding to keep him warm and to prevent his hipbones and spine from rubbing against his bare cot and leaving sore spots whenever he lay down. He would have liked to eat three square meals a day so his stomach didn’t grumble and his head didn’t spin while he was working. He would have liked all of that very much.

_ Julian? _

“Mhm?” It was ten PM, an hour after the show, and Julian was sitting crossed-legged on his cot, a glass of warm water on the floor in front of him.

_ Don’t you think… shouldn’t you eat something today? _

“I had some peanut butter yesterday. I ate the rest of the jar.”

_ But you should eat something today. You haven’t eaten anything yet. _

Julian sighed. “I know. But I’m not really hungry.”

This was a lie. He was constantly, agonizingly hungry and tonight was no exception.

_ I know you’re hungry. You can’t lie to me. _

“I’m okay, really.” He brought the glass of water to his lips and drank, pretending it was coffee or hot chocolate or something else rich and filling.

_ Julian, you need to eat. _

“Eat what? The cafeteria is closed. It’s a mile to that bakery that’s open late and I…” he trailed off. “I’m not sure I can walk that far.”

_ Oh, Julian.  _

His hands were shaking, bony knuckles pressed white against his skin. Too little sugar, too little fat, too little of everything he needed to feel even halfway human. A shiver ran down his body and he hugged his middle in a vain attempt to push away the pain.

“I  _ am  _ hungry,” he said, quietly.

_ I know. _

“God, I’m so hungry. I can almost smell… bread? Do you smell bread?” He cocked his head towards the closet door and inhaled. “That’s fresh bread. And eggs? Chocolate? Tomatoes?” He got unsteadily to his feet and peeped through the keyhole of the janitor’s closet. “Oh my God.”

A procession of men in white shirts were carrying trays laden with food down the hall and into the ballroom adjacent from the janitor’s closet. Julian watched them go, his stomach aching with longing. “What are they doing? Am I imagining this?”

_ I don’t know. Look, it’s Jacques and Pierre. _

The two men, dressed in rumpled suits, trailed after the food, speaking quietly to each other, and Julian pressed his ear against the keyhole to hear what they were saying.

“...telling me she’d meet me at the cast party tonight, but I’m not sure.” This was Pierre. “Even if she doesn’t show, at least we can get drunk.”

“Cheers to that,” said Jacques. “Mr. Cameron got the whole thing catered and there’s that open bar, so…” Their voices faded as they made their way down the hall and Julian sat back on his heels, entranced.

“That’s… so much food. Mr. Cameron… Mr. Cameron would kill me if he saw me there.”

_ He would. _

“What if I… never mind.”

_ What is it, Julian? _

“I have a suit. It’s not great but I have it. Maybe… maybe I could put it on and make my hair look nice and pretend like I was supposed to be there. I wouldn’t talk to anyone, I wouldn’t mess anything up. I just… I’m really hungry. I think I really need to eat or something bad is going to happen.”

_ You do need to eat, but are you sure this is a good idea? _

“Yes. You can smell it too, right? It all smells so good. I can just… I’ll just go in really fast. I’ll get a plate and leave.” Already, he’d taken off his sweater and pulled his suit off the hanger, where was hanging off a hot water pipe near the ceiling. Once he put it on, however, it became clear that he was no longer the size he had been when it was purchased for him.

“God, these are big.” Julian tucked in the collared shirt and pushed out his stomach, but the trousers still gapped at the waist. He pulled the cheap cardboard belt off his work pants and slid it through the belt loops, cinching it around his waist as tightly as it would go.

“Will this give me away?”

_ I think your jacket will cover it. _

“Okay. Okay.” He squirmed into the vest and suit jacket before pulling on his scuffed dress shoes. “How do I look?”

_ You look… presentable. _

“Okay. Um.” Julian poured the remaining few drops of water from his glass into his hand and ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to flatten it. “Okay. You’re… coming with me, right?”

_ Always. _

“Will the audience come too?”

_ Of course. _

The ballroom was packed with people when Julian snuck in. He hugged the walls, staring at his shoes until he could make his way to the three tables at the back of the room. Each was covered in a white tablecloth and Julian’s stomach grumbled audibly when the smell of the food hit him.

“That… oh my God. That all looks so good.” He walked behind the first table, careful to avoid the eyes of the other partygoers. Luckily, no one seemed to care he was there or even notice him, and it was clear that they were all more interested in conversation and the open bar than the expanse of food spread over the buffet tables. Julian swallowed the urge to pile his plate with every hors d'oeuvre present and instead examined each platter. Charcuterie plates piled with sausage and forcemeats, crackers of all shapes, Beaufort, Brie, Bleu cheeses arranged in tantalizing arcs. A whole array of canapés, stuffed with chicken and wild onions, beef pâté with dried cranberry and walnuts, fig and goat cheese. Down the table, crostini topped with smoked salmon and capers lay next to those covered in bruschetta, bowls of tapenade and black caviar placed between each dish.

“Oh.” Julian tried to keep down a little sound of wanting. “I… I don’t know where to start.”

_ You’d better start soon. _

Julian piled his plate with three of everything as well as a generous dollop of caviar and, reluctant to wander too far from the table and risk discovery, he dropped to his knees and crawled under the floor-length white tablecloth.

“Oh… oh God.” The first bite that hit his tongue was pure gold. He started with the canapés, barely giving himself time to swallow before cramming the next one into his mouth. “These are so good.” He savored the last bite of pâté and began stacking crackers high with tapenade and sausage, using his fingers to usher everything into his mouth. The food went down easy and quickly and the more Julian ate, the more he realized how hungry he had been. He scraped the caviar onto a cracker with a piece of Brie.

“I’ve never had caviar before. It’s… wow. Oh my… wow.”

_ Do you feel better, Julian? _

“Yes. God, yes. People eat like this all the time? This is…” He trailed off, crammed another crostini in his mouth. “We gotta look at the other tables.”

_ Be careful. _

“I will.” He ran a final cracker through the last of the tapenade and stuffed it into his mouth.

Julian waited for the feet on the other end of the table to pass before he emerged from under the tablecloth and made his way down to the second table. There was another crystal bowl of caviar flanking a platter of oysters. Cucumber and watercress sandwiches, another charcuterie platter with pork sausage and Gruyére, Époisses, Camembert. More crostini, covered in soft Brie and apricot jam and crushed almonds. Reblochon tarts stuffed with bacon and potatoes. Warm mushroom tartlets, six of which Julian immediately piled onto his plate. A crudité platter, carrots and crisp asparagus and tiny florets of cauliflower. Cheddar gougères, soft and fat with butter. Julian again piled his plate, selecting two extra mushroom tartlets and, after some thought, a single oyster before descending below the tablecloth and crossing his legs.

_ Julian? _

“Mm?” Julian already had two cucumber sandwiches in his mouth, a piece of sausage and Gruyére in his hand.

_Maybe you should… slow down a little. This is a lot of food and you’re not used to--_ _  
_ “I’m fine,” Julian said, but it came out muffled around the sandwiches. “I’m hungry. You wanted me to eat.”

_ I know but… you haven’t eaten all day. This is a lot of rich food. _

“It’s so good. I don’t want to stop. It feels good not to be hungry.” He’d swallowed the cheese, continued stuffing crostini and carrots into his mouth as quickly as possible. “I don’t wanna get caught, okay?”

_ Alright… _

About halfway through his second plate, however, Julian had to stop to catch his breath. It felt like there was less room inside him for his lungs to expand and he had been eating so quickly that he didn’t notice the slow but insistent fullness building in his abdomen until it started to hurt.

_ Are you alright? _

“Yeah,” Julian said, panting. “Yeah, I just…” He placed a flat hand over his belly and hiccupped. “My stomach just started to hurt all of a sudden. It’s okay. I’m okay.”

_ Are you sure? _

“Yeah. My pants feel…” He tried to slip a finger underneath his belt. “My belt’s too tight. Hang on.” He sighed in relief as he unbuckled his belt and buckled it again on the loosest notch. “That’s better. Guess I’m getting kind of full.” He rubbed at his belly, which now curved out under his vest.

_ I wouldn’t be surprised. _

“I forgot what this feels like. It feels pretty good, actually.”

_ Maybe you should stop. _

“No. No, let me finish this. I think the last table’s all dessert. I can fit a little more, definitely. Besides, I’ve never had an oyster before.” He tilted his head back like he’d seen someone do in a movie and let the slimy oyster belly slide down his throat.

“Oh. That’s… not good.” Everything inside him soured and he swallowed an involuntary gag as the slippery oyster slithered into his stomach. “I don’t… ugh.” He felt himself flush a little, suddenly aware of the massive amount of food he’d packed into his body. “I don’t feel so good all of a sudden.”

_ Are you going to be sick? _

“No. No, I just… those are really gross.” He shivered and then belched behind his hand. “‘Scuse me.”

_ Maybe we should go.  _

“No, it’s okay. I saved room. I never get dessert… maybe it would make me feel better.”

_ I’m not sure about that. _

“It’ll be okay. Promise.”

Julian emerged from under the second table a little slower, off balance from the new weight in his stomach. The food on the third table looked a little less appetizing than that on the first two and Julian became aware of how hot and loud it was in the ballroom. Instead of eating, everyone else had been taking advantage of the free champagne and wine and port and now the heat from their bodies made the whole room damp.

“I need something cold. Ice cream or something.” His eyes fell on the dessert table, the array of fruit tarts and chocolate mousse and profiteroles packed with soft ice cream relaxing his stomach somehow. Someone had also left two full glasses of wine on the table and Julian, thirsty from all the cheese and bread, set them under the table before crawling under himself.

_ Julian, this isn’t a good idea. _

Julian didn’t respond, just took a long pull from the first wine glass before stuffing a spoonful of chocolate mousse into his mouth.

_ Julian, stop. _

“I don’t want to.” He drained the glass in two swallows, as easily as if it had been full of water. “I’m fine. I still feel good.”

_ No, you don’t. You’re going to make yourself sick. _

Julian’s face flushed and he looked down at the plate in his lap. “It’s so good. Who knows when I’ll get to eat like this again? I don’t want to miss any of it.” He started on the second glass and crammed the first of four profiteroles into his mouth.

Meanwhile, across the ballroom, chief stagehand Leticia Saltier had caught a glimpse of a shabby figure in a cheap suit hovering over the dessert table.

“Oh, zat better not be who I sink it iz,” she said under her breath, but someone said her name and when she turned back to the table, the person had disappeared.

“Hm.” Leticia excused herself and strode across the ballroom, the tails on her suit jacket flapping behind her. He couldn’t have gotten far, if that was even him at all. You could always trust the janitor to ruin someone’s good time.

Leticia circled the table like a hawk and Julian, who was finding it increasingly difficult to finish the food on his plate, pulled his legs in close at the approaching footsteps and tried to breathe as quietly as possible around his mouthful of fruit tarte. Suddenly, an uncomfortable growl rose from his stomach and the sensible loafers stopped at the front of the table. Julian wrapped both arms around himself, which only pushed up another miserable noise and a brown hand with neat fingernails grabbed the hem of the tablecloth and yanked it up.

“You!” Leticia crouched down, eyes blazing. “What do you sink you are doing ‘ere?”

Julian just looked at her with big eyes, his cheeks as full as a chipmunk’s. He swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, Leticia, I got so hungry and I thought…” his stomach groaned again and he curled in on himself, going a little grey under his flush. “Oww…”

Leticia had approximately seven seconds to take stock of the situation. One: the janitor had snuck into the cast party and had been bogarting refreshments for God knows how long under the table. Two: if she hauled him out, there was a very real possibility (based on the color of his face and the way he was holding his belly) that he would become ill in the middle of the party, which would ruin everything even moreso. Three: he looked  _ so  _ pathetic in his little suit with his hollow little face, and Leticia was not intent on ruining her reputation by exposing the sick janitor to a room full of strangers. John didn’t need to know everything.

“Get. Out,” Leticia said, and the janitor scrambled backwards, under the other side of the tablecloth, and wobbled to his feet before making for the door. His stomach immediately cramped once he’d turned a corner and he doubled over with a groan.

_ Julian? Julian, are you alright? _

“It hurts…”

_ You ate too much. I told you… never mind. Let’s get back to the janitor’s closet before Leticia does something worse. _

Julian felt his face grow hotter, the wine turning his limbs numb and rubbery, but he stumbled down the hallway and into the janitor’s closet, slamming the door behind him.

“Ohh… oh God.”

_ Julian. _

“I… I messed up. Leticia’s mad and... why didn’t you stop me?”

_ I tried! Julian, you cannot put this on me! _

“I know. I’m sorry, I just…” Still in his suit, Julian attempted to curl into a ball on the floor next to a mop bucket, but straightened out when his stomach complained. “It hurts really bad.” He unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his trousers, sighing as the pressure dissipated a little. “I feel like I ate a ton of cement.”

_ French food is not known for its lightness and easiness on the stomach. _

“I knoooowww. What do I doooooo.”

_ Ideally, go back in time and stop eating before you overstuff yourself like a Christmas turkey! _

“I can’t do thaaaat. Please helllp.” 

_ All right. What you really need is some cold water. Maybe peppermint or ginger. _

“I don’t want to eat anything else, please don’t make me.”

_ No one is making you do anything. _

“I can’t get up.”

_ Try to rub some of the air out. You ate so fast, it’s a miracle you haven’t gotten sick. Just be gentle. _

Julian unbuttoned his suit jacket and vest before sliding both hands under his dress shirt. His skin felt hot and sore, his stomach tight as he worked his thumbs in slow circles down his abdomen. A painful belch came up, followed by a series of hiccups. He was full up to the back of his throat, dizzy and nauseated from the wine.

“The room’s spinning.”

_ It isn’t. You’re tipsy. _

Julian groaned. “That was a bad idea.”

_ At least you aren’t hungry anymore. _

“I’m -hic- I’m sorry.”

_ It’s okay. Take the suit off and get into bed. _

Very slowly, Julian stripped down to his underwear and left the suit in a pile on the closet floor before dragging the mop bucket over to his bed. His stomach whined as he lowered himself onto the cot.

“I think… I think I’m gonna go to sleep.”

_ That might help. You still need water, though. _

“Tomorrow.” Julian closed his eyes, tried to ignore the pulsing pain radiating through his abdomen and slipped into sleep.


End file.
